


Atmosphere

by somelovelylove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus falls in love and it ruins his whole life, Also I tried to keep it as canon as possible but there are some liberties taken, Also young McGonagall eventually shows up and she's hip and a BAMF, Canonical Character Death, Despite the title this isn't a songfic I promise, Everything about this relationship is painful, Family Issues, Gellert falls in love and doesn't mean to, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7812607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somelovelylove/pseuds/somelovelylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A century of the most devastating kind of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, but I'm also starting college so pls be patient with me. Feedback is always appreciated-- I'm tryin

_Godric’s Hollow, England_

_1899_

Albus Dumbledore was fairly certain his life was falling apart. He knew logically, of course, that being bitter about the situation would only prove pointless and selfish, but he couldn’t help the sour taste of resentment that spilled into his mouth. Elphias had gone on to the Grand Tour, as Albus had insisted, and Aberforth was set for his next year at Hogwarts, as Albus had insisted much more fervently; and though all things in relation to the Dumbledore family’s affaires had been carefully taken care of, there was a heavy feeling that resided in Albus’ gut which refused to budge. He would’ve liked to say it was grief—a noble thing for it to have been, for sure—but it was not. No, the bundle deep within his body was, indeed, hopeless bitterness at the hand life had dealt to him. Even if he could hope to hand young Ariana off to Aberforth—who seemed much more capable than Albus felt— his younger brother still had at least three years of schooling left, which meant at least three more years of the useless, wasted purgatory that was their home in Godric’s Hollow. And so it was, with much restraint, he managed to keep somewhat of an order and image to their situation, which by the time June came was no longer a great interest of gossip journalism or even the neighborhood elders. It was at this most horrific and tumultuous time for the Dumbledores that Bathilda Bagshot knocked on their door. Albus answered.

“Madame Bagshot—“

“Oh hello Albus, dear.” She interjected, quite a graceful woman with a bit of a mad scientist persona. “I’ve nothing to bring you this time, but instead a favor to ask. My nephew, right little bastard—he’s coming to stay with me for the summer and, well, since he is around your age and, well, since you seem to have found yourself quite lacking in activity (that can lead to terrible depressions you know, what with—oh, well, you understand), I thought perhaps you might, well, take him about.”

Albus didn’t know how it could appear to anyone that he was “lacking in activity” taking care of two siblings, a home, and having recently buried his own mother, but Bagshot had proved somewhat sympathetic in her own way in recent months, so he merely attempted a smile.

“I would be happy to, but I’m afraid I’m not very good company.”

“Oh my dear, neither is he!” She beamed.

“Er,” Albus was a bit confused. “What did you say he was visiting for?”

“I didn’t!” She replied then, realizing he was waiting for more, added, “His parents shipped him here, hasn’t been the best in school.”

“I see,” Albus said, wondering why any kind of person would assume that he, highly regarded as the best student of this century, would enjoy entertaining an unintellectual slacker. “What house was he in, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“House?” she inquired. “Oh! Oh no, my dear boy, he attended Durmstrang.”

“Attended?”

“Bright aren’t you?” She said a little uncomfortably. “Well, yes he was expelled.”

“ _Expelled?_ ”

“Oh yes, you know,”

Albus didn’t know.

“For a little of this, a little of that.” She smiled again, her thoughts obviously back with her work. “You are a truly kind boy, aren’t you? Expect him soon then, goodbye dear!”

And with that she was gone. Albus stood for a moment a bit in shock. He had no doubt secured himself into a most tiresome and boring situation, and all while standing in his own doorway. He sighed and shut the door. It indeed seemed that his life was falling apart.

***

“Albus, I presume?”

Despite everything, the summers in Godric’s Hollow were exceptionally lovely. The sun gave just enough warmth and the trees gave just enough cool; the creeks were thick and fresh with the spring showers and everything smelled of naïve wonder. Albus, having left Aberforth to care for Ariana as he seemed to enjoy it so, was out in the field nearing the thin forest trees. He had a book in hand and was quite ready to spend the day reading and napping in the warm light when he heard a voice call him. It was a lovely voice, really, with a dusting of an accent and a nice sense of humor. He turned. It was a lovelier face; such a boy he had never seen. He had a strong jaw and an expressive brow, his lips parted for a fun grin and his golden hair fell in curls just past his shoulders, untied and happy in the summer breeze.

“My aunt told me to look for a red mane and a miserable expression.” He smiled wider. “She didn’t say you’d be so handsome.”

“Uh…”

“Gellert Grindelwald.” The boy stepped forward, an arm outstretched. “I’m Bathilda Bagshot’s great-nephew.”

Oh. _Oh._

Albus shook his hand. “Yes, well…I’m Albus. I mean, you presumed correctly.”

“It’s alright, by the way,” Gellert said. “You don’t have to bother taking me around, I can’t imagine there’s much to see and I _can_ imagine you have much better things to do. I just thought I’d come so we could at least pretend to be friendly in other company.”

Albus was quite surprised to find that the knot in his stomach, which had loosened ever so slightly, suddenly tighten up again.

“O-oh, yeah. Yes, of course.” He had never quite understood the word flustered before that precise moment.

“I’m sure my aunt’s told you all about how I’m a terrible time and a failure.” He said it with a carefree gesture, still holding a bit of a grin; mischief behind his eyes.

“Er, no, actually.” Gellert looked at him. “Well, I mean, a bit, but nothing extensive.”

“Well,” he said, stepping a bit closer. “I’m an arrogant bastard and hate to think that someone as accomplished—oh yes, I know all about it Aunt Tilda never shuts up—as yourself would look down upon me. So, I’ll say this: everything she said was probably accurate except for if she said I was expelled for being a fool, which I was not, I was expelled for being a genius.” At this point the young man was quite serious, and with his smile gone and his jaw set firmly, Albus couldn’t help but laugh.

“That sounds perfectly believable.” Albus replied, laughing still. Gellert looked affronted for almost a full three seconds before he too broke out into laughter.

“I’m being very serious.”

“I know, that’s why it’s funny.” Albus replied.

“You’re very rude,” Gellert said, still grinning.

“Oh, I know.”

“I don’t think I like you very much at all.”

“Alright.” He was still laughing, but it was then that Gellert turned abruptly and walked away. Albus wasn’t sure where the joke had stopped or started, but his smile faded as the realization that he may have indeed been rude dawned upon him. Then, as quickly as he had disappeared, Gellert Grindelwald strode back to him, snatched his book out of his hand and walked right past him into the trees. Half affronted and half in love, Albus followed.

“Nietzsche?” Gellert called back to him, looking at the book as he staggered somewhat gracefully through the woods. “That mad muggle?”

“Nihilism!” Albus responded, stumbling behind him. “It’s quite fascinating.”

Gellert stopped and turned to him as he finally caught up.

“But what matter is that? He’s a muggle, I can’t imagine he has much to say that I haven’t guessed at.”

“Well,” Albus replied, snatching the book back. “Perhaps you should get a broader imagination.”

“I see.”

“Absolute irony, defacing modern values, morality, the human will to live; all of these relate to wizards and witches just the same.”

Gellert looked at Albus thoughtfully before he spoke. “And that’s all in there?” He finally said, pointing to the book.

“Certainly, and more. I mean he goes on a while about atheism—“

“What’s that?” Gellert asked sincerely, which caught the other young man somewhat off guard. It was very rare someone was genuinely interested in what he had to say. His teachers had praised him, but there were never really any lengthy discussions; Aberforth certainly never cared nor pretended to, and even Elphias often jumped to change the subject.

“Uh, well… well, atheism is not believing in a god of any kind. Which, of course, seems quite unexceptional to us, but to Muggles—“

“They go mad over that stuff.”

“Exactly. So, while that bit exactly doesn’t relate to us, it definitely gives insight to the entire situation. He’s perhaps most well-known for his statement—“

“’God is dead’.” Gellert grinned at Albus who appeared slightly taken aback.

“You know it, then?”

“Well, his _is_ German.” Albus laughed. “And apparently somewhat of a rebel, so I suppose you convinced me to his favor.”

“Marx was German.”

“Now,” Gellert chuckled. “ _He_ is mad.”

They spent the day like that, walking lazily through the forest, jumping from one subject to another so quickly they often forgot their points. Before Albus could register any true concept of time, his eyes noticed the darkness that was creeping upon them; his heart jumped.

“What’s the hour?”

“I’m not sure,” Gellert replied, looking to the fading sun. “After seven?”

“Damn, I have to go.”

Gellert frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes, my brother and sister—“

“Of course, my aunt told me all about it, I’m sorry to have kept you.”

Albus, who was already half on his way to hurrying off, stopped and turned to his new friend.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Gellert smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Aberforth shut the door quietly behind him and turned to glare at his brother. He had always been an angry boy—Albus had had the luxury of a childhood, whereas Aberforth was, in many ways, robbed of one. It was unfair, but it was their life. Always glued to their mother’s side, he had also become quite used to and protective of Ariana, and though Albus was Hogwarts’ shining pupil, Aberforth had always been the golden son. Truth be told, he deserved it too. Albus steadied himself, a bit exhausted from Ariana’s afternoon outburst.

“She’s asleep, what’s the problem?” He asked.

“ _’What’s the problem?’_ ” Aberforth echoed. “You’re gone all the time, _that’s_ the problem.”

“And when I’m here you won’t let me near her.”

“Because you don’t know how to take care of her!”

Albus scoffed, “I’ve been her brother a bit longer than you Abe, I know how to handle her!”

“See? That.” Aberforth seemed to shake, holding his voice at a whisper. “’Handle her’—“

“Oh, you know what I meant!”

“That’s _not_ what you _said_.”

“Aberforth,” he breathed, feeling defeated and terribly tired. “I love her too, and I’m sorry. Would you rather I not go this evening?”

Aberforth, a little taken aback by his brother’s acquiescence, only seemed to get angrier. “No. No, go! It doesn’t matter, you’ll just _pine_ for him if you stay.”

“I don’t—“

“We need bread and cheese for the morning, I’m sure you can find time to stop before then.” Aberforth spoke sharply before leaving. Albus remained in the room, quite speechless and feeling somewhat like a dog with his tail between his legs. He didn’t have a response to what Aberforth had said because, the horrible truth was, he really just didn’t care. He _loved_ his family, but he didn’t much _like_ them. Although, he supposed, he did try most of the time; he was trying now, but Aberforth was stubborn, and once he decided he was upset there was no way to convince him otherwise. Albus sighed and, still feeling intensely miserable about the whole thing, left to see his friend. Crossing the yard, he could see the low candlelight in Gellert’s window, the rooftop above curving silver under the half moon. Suddenly, the shutters flew open and a golden blaze appeared, smiling and mischievous. Albus stopped to look at his friend, already feeling a bit better and silently cursed his brother for being right. By Merlin, he was beautiful. In a nice, friendly way, of course. He was quite attractive—anyone could see that, anyone at all.

“I hope you don’t plan on standing there the whole evening.” Gellert called down to him. “I can’t even see your handsome face in this twilight.”

The young man was still smiling at him, careless and excited. Albus, however, felt a harsh twist in his stomach; blood rose high in his cheeks.

“Alright, keep it down, I’m coming.” Albus muttered. He walked around the house and just as he was reaching the door it flew open, revealing a winded Gellert who immediately grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

“I’ve found something.”

He pulled the other boy up the stairs and into his room, shuffling papers on his desk until he extracted the correct one. He nearly threw it at Albus who, maintaining his cool demeanor, frowned and read it over.

“Well…” He said, the other boy watching him expectantly.

“Well what? I’ve been waiting all afternoon to show you, I found it in my aunt’s study.”

“Ah, privacy.” Albus replied dryly.

“She’s a _historian_ ; seems a bit stupid to neglect the advantage of that. Her resources go back years.”

“So does she.”

“Are you going to say anything about it?”

Albus paused, then at last sighed, “I’m confused.”

“Confused? It’s what we talked about at the river— _the Hallows._ ” His eyes blazed with the words. “I thought it wise to look into it, never dreamed I’d find this sitting the next room.”

Albus stared stupidly for a moment, then busted into laughter. “That’s a children’s story!”

Gellert groaned, throwing himself on the bed. “We’ve _discussed_ this.”

“Yes, but Gellert—“ the other boy blinked. “It’s not _real_.”

“What do you mean?” he sat up with urgency, holding up the letter. “It’s right here! The wand, we’ve found a definite connection, it’s all right here!”

“Where did you get your wand?” Albus asked pointedly.

“… Gregorovitch?”

“And did you _see_ the Elder Wand?”

“Well he’s not going to go waving it about!”

“If you have the Elder Wand, you use it!”

“’If’.” Gellert grinned. “ _If_ you have the Elder Wand?”

“ _If_ it were real.” Albus corrected.

“That’s not what you said.”

“It’s what I meant.”

“Come on, Albus, you won’t even entertain it? All your idealism and you have the gall to pretend you don’t believe me?”

He was at a loss for words. Truth be told, he did _want_ to believe him, but someone had to be the adult here.

“Someone has to be the adult here.” He said.

“Why?” Gellert countered, mischief lurking brighter in his eyes. “The Hallows are real. And because they are real, they can be collected. And because they can be collected, an all-powerful wizard _can_ exist.” He licked his lips and added, “Or two.”

“This is dangerous.”

The golden haired boy jumped up, seating himself on the desk, now at equal height to his companion. “This is planning! What have we talked about all this time? Ending the statute, overthrowing the Minister’s petty system, not living in _fear_ —“

“It’s all… it’s all just _talk_ , Gellert.”

His face fell. “Is it?”

Albus jolted. “Well, I… well…” he paused, taking a breath. He thought of his brother and sister. He thought of his wasted education. “It sounds quite treasonous.”

Gellert shrugged. “It is.”

“Are you… are we actually… considering this?”

“Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” He whispered.

“That’s a muggle saying.” Albus replied; the other boy hummed. He began again, “Without the statute muggles would be terrified.”

“We could quell their terror.”

“They’re humans too—“

“I never suggested otherwise.”

“They’re not inferior, they’re just… different.”

“But we are superior.” Gellert said. Albus did not reply. “It’s the truth, and that’s okay. They shouldn’t be punished for it, but neither should we.”

There was a long silence through which the young German man sat quite patiently. At last Albus spoke.

“I… understand.” He feared being idealistic to the point of naivety, that’s what scared him so. He agreed with what Gellert was saying, he had agreed for a while now. He thought of Ariana, of what those boys did to her; of what his father was currently rotting in a cell for. He wasn’t a muggle hater—the Dumbledores _weren’t_ muggle haters, but they were a powerful, old family, and very much didn’t deserve the lot they were given in life. He didn’t believe in holding power over muggles as much as he believed in not having power held over him—his entire life had been quite literally devastated by what those muggle boys had done to a child. He was stuck here because of them; his sister was disabled because of them; his mother was dead and his father was in prison because of them, and still Albus did not hate muggles. He thought on it often, proud of himself for his ability to think with such clarity, but Gellert was right. There was a fine line between benevolence and being stepped on. He would not hurt a muggle for merely existing, but he, in the very least, thought he deserved the same in return. Gellert, still perched on his desk, was watching the wheels turn in Albus’ head with a sort of faraway look in his eyes. He seemed to know, to understand, without any words at all. It was often this way between them. Albus turned to him.

“We’re not… mad? Are we?” He asked his friend tentatively.

“Oh,” he beamed at him. “Quite. But, all the best ones are.”

“Alright,” Albus said, smiling a bit now.

“You know,” he said, golden strands turning to liquid in the candlelight. “You look nice when you’re not worried about how you look.”

Albus jolted. “If I can be frank,” he said. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Albus shrugged and Gellert pushed on. “You’re my dearest friend. You’re brilliant and beautiful,” Then, he added, teasing, “If sometimes a bit slow.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.” Albus replied.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He said. “I can’t imagine why; I should love to be complimented.”

“You already know you’re brilliant and beautiful.” It slipped out before Albus could stop it. He flushed violently.

“Do I?”

Albus looked at him. He hadn’t really ever thought about how Geller might feel in relation to that sort of thing. He was so radiant, so bright and burning that Albus had just assumed he knew, that he didn’t need to be told.

“Albus?” Gellert said and he blinked, having lost focus in his thoughts.

“Yes?” it came out as a whisper. Where had his voice gone?

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He said it like he said everything, casually, maybe a bit teasing. It could have been a joke, except it wasn’t, because then his lips were pressing against Albus’, and it was as though the world, black and white his whole life, had suddenly burst into color. Was this alright? Was this normal? Were they still friends—or did friends just do this? Elphias never had, though, thinking back he supposed he always had a habit of sitting rather close to him, of looking at him a bit too long. But what did that matter anyway? Oh Merlin, he was thinking too much. Perhaps—

But then, as soon as it had begun, it was over.

“Albus?” the younger boy whispered, head still bowed in towards him. “Have you never been kissed before?”

He seemed to awaken.

“That bad, then?”

Gellert threw his golden head back in a shout of laughter. “No,” he said, smiling. “That frightened.”

“Well, you just sort of went for it.”

“I told you first, I thought that might help.”

“It didn’t.” He replied, laughing now too. Oh, this was quite easy, wasn’t it? In fact, it was better than before in some way Albus couldn’t quite pin. “I think we should try again.”

“Well,” Gellert said. “What’s that they say about practice?”

“Who cares?” Albus pulled him in by the shirt, hand twisting in golden curls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing feedback! I'm SO sorry because I know it's been forever, but I just finished my first semester in college and finally have time again!! (Not for long though...)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, more to come.

What had only been weeks felt like years. It was terrifying really, how fast he fell in love. Never in his entire life had Albus felt so bound to another person, and to be quite honest he wasn’t sure he ever would again. What kind of affair was this? Puppy Love? Surely not, what he felt was both utterly silent and ravenously savage. He didn’t feel as though he were being tricked or had, and being someone quite capable in matters of judgment and perception he was assured. Somewhat. There was, of course, that glimmer of cynicism that flashed through every lover’s mind: how could _they_ possibly love _me_? 

It was a common thought, no doubt, and Gellert himself had expressed such concerns a fortnight earlier. Albus had roared with laughter, jolted only by the hurt expression on the German boy’s face. He couldn’t believe he was serious, but it seemed, in shadow of all of Albus’ shining academic achievements and renown, he felt a bit small sometimes.

Small. Albus, lying in bed in the early morning, turned to his lover. How could such a man ever feel anything but fire. That’s what Gellert was; fire and fire and burning. The sun beamed warm through the windows, rare on a common English day. Today would be kind, that was sure. Golden curls splayed out on the pillow next to him; Albus imagined them as fire too, a crown for a king. 

“Are you staring at me again?” Gellert spoke suddenly, words muffled by the pillow his face was pressed into.

“Yes, I am.” Albus replied. 

 

The blonde sat up on his elbows and grinned. “You’re a fool.”  
“Yes, I am.”

A bark of laughter, loud among the flutter of paper and the creak of the home. He could see Madame Bagshot through the crack of the curtain, far out in her garden. Merlin, did the woman ever sleep? He blushed slightly at the thought. Gellert turned over, following his gaze.

“You’re wondering if she heard us?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow for a playful expression. Albus hummed in response. “Well of course she did.” 

“Very funny.”

“You’re incredibly loud.”

“ _I’m_ loud?”

“Yes well,” Gellert grinned again. “I would be too if I was making love to me.”

“You’re a bastard,” Albus laughed. “You’re a _loud_ , moaning, trembling, mess of a bastard.”

“Oh, but I’m yours.” He turned over on him, hands finding red hair and tugging down. Their lips met and there was a moan, who it belonged to neither was sure. Gellert pulled him closer, hand traveling to shoulder, gripping Albus both in passion and purpose. 

“Stop—“ Albus managed to gasp between kisses.

“Okay,” Gellert murmured, lips traveling to an already ravaged neck.

“No,” he laughed, pushing the other boy down. “I mean it, the day has begun—“

“Maybe for old Tilda down there, but me on the other hand…” he pressed a knee up and Albus groaned, deeply regretting not finding trousers the   
night before. 

“You’re insatiable.” He said, then smirked. “Then again, I would be too if I was making love to me.”

“Don’t get smart.”

“Too late.” Albus fell back onto the bed, hand intertwining with the other boy’s. Gellert brought their hands to his lips and placed kind kisses on them. 

“I love you,” he sighed and Albus’ chest seized. No matter how many times he said it, it still seemed unreal. He turned to look at him. How could someone possibly be so beautiful, yet so incredibly deadly. 

“I adore you.” He replied.

“It’s the same.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well,” Gellert said. “I adore you too.”

“And I love you too.”

“Merlin, we’re terrible.” He made a face, but his hand stayed firmly in Albus’. 

“Too trivial?”

“Too sweet!” He cried, ripping his hand away and jumping up on the bed in a grand, dramatic gesture. “We are fearsome, accomplished wizards! Kind, sure, but exceptionally lethal!” Albus began to laugh, taking the German’s hand to pull him back down onto the bed.

“Wait,” Gellert protested, tears from laughter in his eyes. “Wait, wait!”

“What?”

“I…” he seemed to stall, uncertainty taking over his expression.

“What?” Albus asked again, softer. 

“I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?” he sat up, suddenly serious. 

“Yeah I… well, just wait here.” Gellert said, climbing off of the bed and quickly pulling on trousers, he exited the room. He left the door open and Albus could hear him rummaging down the hall. What on earth could make him nervous? Few things did, so when Gellert was nervous, Albus was too.

“Alright,” he called, coming back down the hall and through the doorway. He kicked the door shut and crawled up onto the bed, his hands clasped together in his lap. He chewed is lip, but his eyes blazed with excitement. “I’m not really… well, I got him from a friend back in Germany. A traveling fellow, met him when I was young—he was a friend of my mother’s. Anyway, well, I asked for a favor.”  
Albus was enthralled and he hadn’t even seen what the gift was yet. He nodded, eyes trained on Gellert’s cupped hands. Slowly he parted them, and resting in his palm was the smallest little bird Albus had ever seen. He was curled up, half asleep with what looked like ash resting around him. A single red feather poked out of his forehead.

“Beautiful…” He whispered. “But I don’t understand.”

“He’s a phoenix, Albus.” Gellert answered, the other wizard’s head snapped up in amazement. “And he’s yours.”

“How did you even—wait, you can’t be serious.”

Gellert beamed. “Yes, I am. He’s just been reborn.”

“I…” he was at a loss for words, eyes focused as the small bird’s eyes fluttered open. He reached his hand tentatively to him, and as soon they touched the tiny creature let out a joyous squeal and began to almost purr. Albus chuckled, mesmerized. Then, he crashed his lips into Gellert’s, kiss after kiss after kiss.

“Not in front of the children.” He laughed, nodding to the little bird. 

“I just—“ Albus’ expression fell. “I can’t take him back, Aberforth will have a fit.”

“Of course. Until your brother stops being such an imbecile, this little friend can stay here. But he is yours.”

“Aberforth really hates you.”

“I know,” he grinned, then placed the bird in Albus’ hands. “I’ve got his perch down the hall hold on.”

The bird struggled to stand, looking up at Albus with large, compassionate eyes. He struggled to recall all he knew about phoenixes. He had read things, here and there, but research was definitely in order. What a marvelous creature. Gellert entered the room once more, holding a freshly dusted brass perch that was attached to a tray. 

“He’s young and he’s wild, but I was assured I wouldn’t need a cage. They’re said to be quite loyal.” He smiled brightly as the bird hopped around on Albus’ palm. “Besides, looks like he’s already fairly attached to you.”

“He’s absolutely spectacular, Gellert, I…” he blinked away tears and smiled. He shuffled to the edge of the bed, leaning over to place the creature on the tray. Gellert sat down next to him.

“When did you get him?”

“Two days ago,” he replied. “He was terribly old, I thought perhaps I had been taken for a fool.”

“You kept a large red bird in your home for two days and no one noticed?”

Geller looked at him. “Why do you think I insisted on sitting by the brook?” Albus laughed. “No, what was harder was when he exploded.”

“So that’s really how it happens?”

“Oh yes, a violent burst of Gunpowder Plot proportions.” 

Albus began to laugh, small at first until it became a roar. 

“What?” Gellert asked, nudging him. “Don’t have all the fun.”

“Fawkes.”

“What?”

Albus grinned, tears in his eyes. “His name will be Fawkes.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this! Sorry again for the long wait... in better news, college is great! More of these sad gays are coming, don't you worry. Also, thank you for all the beautiful and kind feedback!

He should’ve told him. He should’ve told him from the beginning that he couldn’t—that he wouldn’t just—

But of course, he would. He was going to. He wanted to. 

“Get out. _Now._ ” Aberforth’s voice shook, riddled with a dangerous anger, but Gellert didn’t move. 

“Albus, please, help me to enlighten your half-brained brother here—“

“At least I’m not stupid enough to fall for Albus’ tricks.” Aberforth sneered.

“Tricks? You truly are an _idiot_ , aren’t you?”

The younger boy shouted in laughter, cruel and hollow. “You never actually thought he was going to go _with you_ , did you?”

Gellert’s expression flickered. “Don’t be daft. Have fun at school little boy, we’ll be changing the world. Besides, what should he be loyal to? _You?_ This dump of a home?”

“It’s not loyalty,” Aberforth shrugged, a glint in his eyes like he had the upper hand. Albus pressed himself to the wall. “He’s just a bloody coward.”

“ _Coward!?_ ” Gellert roared. “How can—Albus did you—“

But Albus did not.

Gellert went on. “Stuck here with an foolish brother and a cripple sister—“

That was it. That was the end, Albus knew it. Aberforth simply exploded.

“ _Don’t you dare talk about Ariana! Don’t you dare pretend like you have even the faintest—_ “

“We’re trying to help her more than you ever could!” Gellert shouted. “Albus, let’s—“

He turned to find Albus there, a flower glued to the wall as though in an attempt to sink into it. 

“We can go.” Gellert said carefully. “You don’t have to stand here for this.”

Silence.

“Albus?”

Aberforth laughing.

“I..” his voice cracked. “He’s right, with Ariana, I can’t just—“

“We _discussed_ this, she’ll be safer in London, in a hospital—“

“ _A hospital!?_ ” Aberforth cried, the air knocked clean from his body.

“I know,” Albus said, paying no attention to his distraught brother. “I know it’s just, maybe if we wait just a little longer…”

“We’ve waited too long already.” Gellert reasoned. “I understand how you must feel; I don’t want to put her there either, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

Albus opened his mouth, then closed it. He blinked away tears and nodded.

“For now!? What the bloody hell does that even—Oh Albus you _fucking naïve_ —“

“ _OH WOULD YOU SHUT UP!_ ” Gellert roared. 

Gellert was right. It would be okay, but… but they had to leave now. He could see it burning in Aberforth’s eyes: danger. He straightened himself from the wall. It was hard, he knew it would be, and yet… No, Gellert was right. _Coward_. The words rang bitterly in his ears. It didn’t matter, he was leaving, and he was leaving _now_. An uncontrollable need for air wracked his body and Gellert, seeing his distressed, opened reached for the door handle.

“ _EXPULSO!_ ” 

Gellert was slammed into the door, the wall cracking around him. Then, with his usual grace and a suspicious calm, he pushed himself carefully up. Aberforth’s chest heaved in triumph and anger.

_We need to leave. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Nownownownow—_

Albus couldn’t breathe, panic held his lungs in a vice. Gellert would open the door, and they would leave, and Aberforth would forgive him someday, and Ariana would be taken care of, and—

A wand slipped out. Albus felt words rise in his throat, no, vomit—no, words, stuck in bile that burned his mouth. Then, as elegant as fresh china, Gellert turned. 

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Everything was a kind of terrible blur after that. He begged Gellert to stop, but he would not. Then he cursed him, and Aberforth cursed Albus, and on it went back and forth. Albus, feeling his body being torn into halves, sank from the scene. He had always been an excellent dueler, it came natural and easy to him—his mind slipped from his head. Lights flashing, objects crashing, when would it end? How would it end? Gellert and Aberforth were here for death, that much was clear. He could not let his brother become a murderer—like their father, locked away in misery. He could not let him die either, he owed that to his mother, to Ariana. 

Oh, sweet Ariana. _Ariana_.

A scream sounded from the entry way, her body jerked and flew between them. The curses stopped, silence rang. Aberforth fell to her, calling her name and shaking her. Gellert stepped back, shocked. He looked to Albus, but Albus did not look to him. There was an expectation there, a hope. But slowly, Albus approached his sister’s body. He sat down, expression blank, and Aberforth covered her small body with his, sobbing. 

Gellert fled. 

\---------------------------------------

They hadn’t spoken since the duel, both brothers silently passing through the house like ghosts on different planes. Albus wasn’t sure when Gellert had left, in fact, for days he honestly believed the boy was merely locking himself away next door. But then Madame Bagshot had come over just yesterday to assure him she would be at the funeral, expressing her sorrow and her apologies on behalf of her nephew. It was evident something awful had happened, and that Gellert had been involved, but anything further was a mystery to everyone, including Albus and Aberforth. Madame Bagshot had given him a few sad looks then, realizing he had no plans to answer her in anyway, gave up and walked away. 

They walked to the funeral together. Neighbors and a few old friends of the family who, if nothing else, at least had felt sorry for Ariana, arrived in a timely fashion. Elphias had come, dear old Elphias. He opened his mouth to speak to Albus, but changed his mind at the blank mask he wore. Albus was thinking a great many things, none of which played onto his features. Considering everything, he appeared quite composed—and then they lowered the coffin into the ground. A choked gasp clawed its way from his throat, tears flowing down his face. 

“So now you’ll cry?” An angry voice shouted at him. Just as he opened his eyes to place the voice as Aberforth’s there was a fist crashing into his face. Gasps from the crowd. Elphias pulled Aberforth back, consoling him, and Albus, having fallen, stood shakily and walked back to the house. There was a murmur in the crowd.

_What a family…_   
_Tragic, the whole thing, really._   
_Too bad, he was such a brilliant boy._   
_You don’t think…he did it, do you?_   
_Just like his father then…_

A dam had suddenly broken, a veil pulled away from his eyes. He went upstairs and began to pack his things. Only the most important, only the necessary. Everything else were memories he did not want. He did not think about Aberforth, even whilst blood stream down into his mouth. His brother would not want to say goodbye. The look in Aberforth’s eyes was a warning: do not be home when I get there. He swallowed blood, grimacing. He knew he could fix it quite easily, but he also felt he deserved it. He deserved to look a fool, to taste blood, and to be in pain. He grabbed his trunk and bag and tripped down the stairs. The door burst open for him, and as he walked out his stomach jolted. There, sitting on the porch, was Fawkes. Albus, in a fleeting moment of disgusting hope, glanced up to Gellert’s window, but his eyes were drawn to the old woman standing on the steps of the house. Madame Bagshot gave him a sad smile, then disappeared into her home.

He grabbed the perch and whistled to Fawkes. The creature glided to his shoulder, and the door slammed shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, like I said I know it's out of timeline, but I hate the timeline they give so I made little itty bitty alterations.

_1920_

Within a few years he was no longer cloaked in the shadow of his family. Travel, research, and heavy political commentary had placed him among some of the most respectable wizards. His later work on dragon blood only placed him in more public acclaim, and soon anything dark that could’ve been associated with the Dumbledores was replaced by Albus’ stunning achievements and influence. He had honestly and truly become everything he’d wanted to be, and now a professor to top it off. Transfiguration had always been his best subject, so while the job offer wasn’t exactly surprising, it was exciting. He had been working at Hogwarts for some years now, usually off and on due to his busy schedule. This would mark his first year as a permanent professor, and there was something quite relaxing about settling into a stable career. His legacy was set, that much he knew, and his hopes were a quiet life to make up for the childhood he had to endure. The idea was an article here, a book there, and to ultimately be left alone.

It was an idea—a dream really. People like Albus Dumbledore don’t get off quite so easily, and misery should have been something he anticipated. Yet when he entered into his office on the early morning of September 3rd, his stomach had the audacity to plummet in shock. There, sitting on his desk, was a copy of _Der Okkultisten_ , a German magical newspaper. There was no note, no letter, just Elphias‘ owl searching the cabinets for food. Albus absentmindedly dumped some treats out for the creature as he picked up the paper. He waved his hand and the page translated itself: _Dark Magic Alive in Frankfurt_.

He glanced around the room, suddenly paranoid, and quickly threw the paper into the unlit fireplace. He walked from the office, turned and walked back into the office, stared at the traitorous object, and finally sighed. Warily, he shooed Elphias’ owl out the window and waved the door shut. He picked up the paper again and steeled himself. 

_You are no longer a child, Albus._ He chided himself. Somewhere far away in the back of his head he heard his brother. _“Coward.”_ He continued to read.

_Frankfurt was shaken this morning with the discovery of several Imperiused Ministry officers. According to officials, this breach of national security has been linked to the sacking of wand shops across Eastern Europe. While the story is still being investigated, it has become clear that said officers were placed under the illegal Imperius curse so that the assailant might attain information pertaining to wand origin and history.These disturbances pair with the attacks on Muggles reported on just earlier this week in both Frankfurt and Berlin. It is perhaps important to note that the wand shop conflicts across the East were not done so quietly, but rather with great uproar that caused panic in both Muggle and Magical societies alike. In fact, the officers discovered this morning were found in various downtown districts of the city, publicly practicing magic and even hexing muggles. The insistence by Minister Bergmold that these disturbances are unrelated has led to some dissonance in the Ministry, with Head Auror Grechmann becoming quite vocal in his belief that the cases are indeed related and telling of a much larger problem. According to Grechmann, these disturbances are the work of a group of wizards who seem to have aggressive stances against the Statute of Secrecy._

A door slammed open and Albus dropped the paper on his desk. The voices of students echoed up to his office, chattering and laughter as his heart rose to his throat. He swallowed hard and checked his watch. It was time for class, naturally. He sighed and walked out into the classroom. It was the Seventh Years this morning—some of the hardest in his previous experience. They were getting offers and internships and seemed to think grades magically disappeared in their final year. 

He gave his greetings and introductions and went around the room. Seventh Years or not, they did seem to be thoroughly impressed at the mention of his name, as well as vaguely interested that he would be maintaining the position. He then began the content, a simple day with an introduction to the principles of human transfiguration. 

“The transfiguration of human features can be compared to that of Metamorphmagi. Essentially, what one does when practicing transfiguration is replicate the born abilities of a Metamorphmagi.”

“Professor?”

He turned. In the front row sat a pretty, if somewhat tense looking young woman. Her dark hair was swept back from her face and her eyes were focused. A shock to Albus, who, due to her disinterested demeanor, had assumed she hadn’t been listening. Moreover, for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name.

“Er, yes?”

“While it is an apt comparison, it seems to be more a comparison than a replication. For example, if a Polyjuice Potion was to go awry with the hair of an animal, a person would painfully acquire some of those traits. Metamorphmagi cannot turn into animals, that is exclusive to Animagi.”

“Well,” Albus began, if somewhat a bit stumped. “Now you’re discussing potions.”

“If it transfigures, it’s transfiguration.” She replied, almost lazily. There was a Scottish lilt to her voice.

“Hm.” He thought for a moment. “This is fair, but not what I teach in this class. Nevertheless, yes, it is a comparison. I had no intention of leading you to believe that magical folk seek the powers of Metamorphmagi—though I’m sure some do—but rather to provide a frame of reference.”

She seemed satisfied and he continued on without further interruption. It was somehow both relieving and disheartening that no one had anything to say. A naïve man might have assumed it was because they were wrapped in the action of learning or even impressed by him, he, however, was quite aware it was because they weren’t listening. He went to conclude. 

“I’m sure you all have heard a great deal of stories about the more ludicrous effects of human transfiguration, and they are true. Transforming the human body, whether another’s or your own, is perhaps one of the most difficult tasks in the magical world. Even the most accomplished wizards cannot do so without the presence of their wand.”

“Professor, if we are to follow along with your previous… comparison of Metamorphmagi, may it perhaps be an appropriate time to mention that they do not need a wand to transform.”

The class seemed to stare at her for a moment, mildly astounded by her curt manner to the new, "famous" professor. They looked to Albus next.

“Yes,” he answered. “This would be an excellent time to mention that, and an even better introduction to next class. We will move from basics to specific forms of human transfiguration, including Metamorphmagi. Please read chapters 2 and 3 for next class—“ a groan sounded from the students. “—Skim between your round of Firewhisky, at the very least…”

That earned a laugh, his first for the year. Not from the stern young woman, however, whose eyes drifted out the window in a daze. His next class was not until the early afternoon, and he returned to his study in a casual manner. In his work, he had forgotten about the paper. Ah, the paper, lying there like an accusatory finger digging into his chest. He walked around his desk carefully and put some papers away. Just as he was turning he heard a knock on the door. 

“Come in.”

The young woman entered, her face puzzled. She stood silent for a moment. 

“I didn’t mean to attack you.” She said.

“Oh, you didn’t.” He replied.

“I’d say I did.”

“I’d say you didn’t.”

She looked at him very hard, then her eyes drifted about the room. She glanced over the cabinets and shelves of books and articles, then down to the low candles and quills, finally lingering on the newspaper, still splayed on the desk. 

“May I help you with something?” He asked.

She looked up. “I read your research on the properties of dragon’s blood.”

“Yes.”

“I read Dillonsby’s work on it before yours. He said you took his notes.”

“Yes, he offered.”

“Your research was refined. His was not.” She shrugged and began to browse the room.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I think your writing was actually substantial and not a mess of theories like his.” 

“Alright.”

“You’re very accomplished.”

He didn’t respond. Honestly, he was a little confused. She went on.

“But you’re a bit young to be a professor.”

“I’m thirty-nine years old.”

She paused and looked at him, frowning.

“Well, I guess you _are_ good at transfiguration.” 

There was a pause after her deadpan, then Albus burst into laughter. Merlin, what a damn day. But she was laughing too, and they were laughing together, and he felt an odd sense of relief. Alleviation to the immense anxiety that clawed his ribcage. He was very used to being respected, even feared, and having an image for it. Yet for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he didn’t need to be anyone else.

“You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” He said, tears of mirth in his eyes.

“Oh?” She responded, in similar condition. 

“Forgive me, what is your name?” He held out his hand to her. She took it, a firm grip.

“Minerva, but call me Minnie.”


End file.
